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JohnSteinbeck
Thehighgray-flannelfogofwiheSaliheskyandfromalltherestoftheworld.Oneverysideitsatlikealidoainsahegreatvalleyaclosedpot.Onthebroad，levellandflplowsbitdeepaheblackearthshialwheretheshareshadthefoothillranchesacrosstheSaliheyellowstubblefieldsseemedtobebathedinpaleshiherewasnosuhevalleyhethickwilltheriverflamedositiveyello>
Itwasatimeofquietandofwaiting.Theairwasdtender.Alightwindblewupfromthesouthwestsothatthefarmersweremildlyhopefulofagoodrainbef;butfogandraindidnotgotogether.
Acrosstheriver，onHehillraleworktobedohehaywasdstoredandtheorchardswereploweduptoreceivetheraindeeplywhenitshoulde.Thethehigherslopeswerebeingshaggyandrough-coated.
ElisaAllen，winherflarden，lookeddownacrosstheyardandsawHenry，herhusband，talkingtotwomenis.Thethreeofthemstoodbythetractorshed，eawithoohelittleFord-son.Theysmokedcigarettesahemaeastheytalked.
&chedthemforamomebacktoherwork.Shewasthirty-five.Herfacewasleanandstrongandhereyeswereasclearaswater.Herfigurelookedblodheavyinhergardeninge，aman’sblackhatpulledlowdownoverhereyes，clod-hoppershoes，afiguredpripletelycoveredbyabigcorduroyapronwithfpocketstoholdthesrowelandscratcher，theseedsandtheknifesheworkedwith.Sheworeheavyleatherglovestoprotedswhilesheworked.
&ingdowntheoldyear’sthemumstalksairofshortandpowerfulscissors.Shelookeddowntowardthemeorshednowandthen.Herfacewaseagerandmatureandhandsome;evenherworkwiththescissorswaser，over-powerful.Thethemumstemsseemedtoosmallandeasyfy.
Shebrushedacloudofhairoutofhereyeswiththebacklove，aasmudgeofearthonherdoingit.Behiheefarmhousewithredgeraniumskedarounditashighastheasahard-sweptlookinglittlehouse，olishedwindows，andamud-matoeps.
&anlahetractorshed.ThestraingintotheirFordcoupe.Shetookoffaglovearongfingersdowofnewgreenthemumsproutsthatweregrowingarous.Shespreadtheleavesandlookeddownamongthes.Noaphidswerethere，nosowbugsorsnailsors.Herterrierfiroyedsuchpestsbeforetheycouldgetstarted.
&artedatthesoundofherhusband’svoice.Hehadely，andheleahewirefeprotectedherflardenfromddogsands.
“Atitagain，”
hesaid.“You’vegnewing.
&raightenedherbadpulledloveagaihey’llbestrongthisingyear.”
Ioneaherewasalittlesmugness.
“You’vegotagiftwiththings，”
Henryobserved.“Someofthoseyellowthemumsyouhadthisyearwereteninchesacross.Iwishyou’dworkoutintheordraisesomeapplesthatbig.”
Hereyessharpened.“MaybeIcoulddoit，too.I’veagiftwiththings，allright.Mymotherhadit.Shecouldstiginthegroundagrow.Shesaiditlanters’handsthatkodoit.”
&sureers，”
hesaid.“Henry，whowerethosemealkingto?”
“Why，sure，that’swhatIcametotellyou.TheywerefromtheWesterpany.Isoldthosethirtyheadofthree-year-otnearlymyowoo.”
“Good，”
shesaid.“Goodforyou.”
“AndIthought，”
heued，“Ithoughthowit’sSaturdayafternoogointoSalinasfordiarestaurant，aoapictureshow—tocelebrate，yousee.”
“Good，”
sherepeated.“Oh，yes.Thatwillbegood.”
&onhisjokihere’sfightstonight.How’dyouliketogotothefights?”
“Oh，no，”
shesaidbreathlessly.“No，Iwoulds.”
“Justfooling，Elisa.We’llgotoamovie.Let’ssee.It’stwonow.I’mgoiyandbringdoweersfromthehill.It’lltakeusmaybetwohours.We’llgointownaboutfiveandhavediheihat?”
“OfcourseI’lllikeit.It’sgoodtoeatawayfromhome.”
“Allright，then.I’llgogetupacoupleofhorses.”
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